


What Do You Think The Troubles Are?

by CookieDoughMe



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: F/M, Nathan's POV, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, angsty smut, diverges from canon after 3.06 - Real Estate, unhealthy relationship strategies in the face of emotionally difficult physical conditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieDoughMe/pseuds/CookieDoughMe
Summary: Diverges from canon after episode 3.06 - Real Estate.Nathan and Jordan in a continued relationship which they both have their doubts about but which they are both drawn to anyway because of the way their Troubles interact.





	1. Chapter 1

I didn't see this coming.

When I first went to try and make contact with a member of the Guard at the Gun & Rose diner, all I knew was I needed to speak to someone called Jordan. It could have been anyone; man, woman, old, young. I was expecting someone Vince and Dave's age I think, and probably a man at that. Someone with face and hands battered by the sea and dressed for the cold Haven air.

Instead I found myself talking to a beautiful woman, dressed for style over practicalities and all the more striking for it. Soft pale skin under jet black hair, she could have had her pick of the men in Haven (and not a few of the women too I’d guess) if it weren't for her Trouble.

Now that she knows Haven PD is looking into the tattoo, I tell her that this started as an investigation, but that somewhere along the way it changed. I tell her it's more than that now, I insist that she means something to me. And the thing is, as I'm saying it, I realise it's true.

The first time I kissed her, I walked away. Left her standing there and stepped out into the quiet night air. Her gasps echoed in my ears; the sounds of surprise at a sensation she'd been afraid she would never feel again. I know what that fear is like and I could almost feel a lurch in my stomach at the thought of her reaction.

I was supposed to be leaving, I was supposed to go home, but the bronco was there on the road and I was still standing on the steps of the diner, pulled back by a sensation I couldn't quite feel.

When I went back inside, she hadn't moved an inch. I stopped in the doorway and she stood and looked at me. There was an element of distrust to that look, it's true; enough that she didn't walk over to me. She didn't know what to make of me or exactly why I was there, and she was wary. But mostly there was something else to that look; a pleading, intense desire for something only I could give her.

I felt the memory of another kind of lurch in my body at the way she looked at me, and wondered how I ever thought it was a good idea to walk out on a beautiful woman like that. I turned to bolt the door behind me and then in a few quick steps I was there; my hands on her arms, my body pressed to hers. And though I didn't feel it, I saw the look in her eyes and I heard the sounds she made just from my fingers on her wrist and I realised in that moment that the sights and the sounds might almost be enough. 

After Jess, I’d started to believe that maybe I wasn't completely broken, that perhaps I could still give a woman what she wanted, that I could still … make it happen. But now with Jordan, this is something completely different. She knows what it's like to be Troubled and for her, mine is like an impossible dream. I don't feel broken when I'm with her but I don't just feel normal either. The way she reacts, just seeing what my touch does for her; my Trouble doesn't make me less-than. It makes me more.

I was just trying to catch a criminal, trying to keep Audrey safe. I didn't plan this at all, but being with Jordan makes me feel almost like I'm somehow … magic.


	2. Chapter 2

I push things sometimes with Jordan, I know. I'm not sure I'm always entirely fair to her. Not that I would ever  _ force _ her, it's just; I can stop her mid-sentence with nothing more than my hand on her arm. In the past I've always been happy to let a woman lead, to wait for her to make the first move. But with Jordan, the way our Troubles interact gives me a kind of power over her that’s hard to resist.

She still doesn't entirely trust me I don't think, doesn't like the badge that I wear, doesn't trust my partnership with Audrey - she has all kinds of issues with that - even objects to me on the basis of a supposed connection to Duke, though I'm not exactly in the Crocker fan club. She challenges me on these things and more; what I'm doing to help the Guard, what I will do, how far I'm prepared to go, whose side I'm really on. Sometimes I defend myself, argue my point, try to justify my actions to her, and sometimes I just … walk into her space, put my hands to her skin and watch her lose her focus, and her anger fall away from the power of my impossible touch.

My Trouble still has its downsides though. When I touch her it's hard to tell how hard my skin pushes against hers, how much pressure I'm using. With my hand on her arm I can see what I'm doing and it's not too bad. But to do something like put my fingers, or my tongue, between her legs is a lot more difficult. I want to go down on her, but I can't be sure my teeth won't hurt her my mistake, so I don't.

I try to explain this to her and she gets it. She takes over and tells me what she wants; press harder, move your hands here, lie back, lie still; I watch her make use of my body and it is a beautiful view. At a certain point, she always takes over and I let her tell me what to do, put me where she wants me. I don't mind; it makes sense. I shouldn't have  _ all _ the power here after all.

I let her set the pace afterwards as well. Sometimes she kicks me out before her breathing's even back to normal, or leaves without a word. Sometimes she has me lie next to her for a long time, my fingers running slowly over her beautiful naked back. Sometimes she phones me every hour just to say hello, sometimes she makes sure we don't see each other for days. She's playing with me I think and her beauty is a power all its own; we play with each other perhaps, and I wonder sometimes where that will take us, if the game will come crashing down around our ears eventually and if it is really entirely healthy in the meantime.

But for now, I take advantage of the situation where I can, in every way that I can. I watch her hips move over me, her naked body pressed to mine. My eyes drink in the view and my body responds all on its own and sometimes … some times, just for a moment, I can almost feel the pulse of endorphins flowing through me when my hips jerk up to meet hers.


	3. Chapter 3

Today was a bad day. The Troubles are only getting worse and more inventive it seems. This one was a kid who … we couldn't get there in time to stop … I've never seen anything like it. Never heard of anything like it. I was glad for once I couldn't feel my stomach; don't know how the others kept from throwing up. We got it resolved in the end; shouldn't happen again. But it's not just that; Audrey is … well there's something she's not telling me, I know that much. But she won't talk to me so it just sits there in between us, getting in the way. Duke is more obnoxious than ever, Vince and Dave are as vague and unhelpful as ever; it just seems like everything is coming to a head, like something is about to go incredibly wrong and I just feel … powerless.

I find myself half-way over to Jordan's place before I even realise I've made the decision to go. But who am I kidding? Faced with this kind of day and this feeling of losing control, what else was I ever going to do with my evening?

I knock on the door, realising only as I hear the result that I used too much force. Jordan opens the door quickly, wondering what she'll find that warranted such an urgent summons. When she sees me her expression relaxes a little. I step inside, my arm deliberately brushing hers. I want to grab her and kiss her there in the doorway but she doesn't like to be too public about what we have going on (whatever exactly it is) - there are still people in the Guard who don't like it. Don't like me. So I reach around her to close the door and once we're out of sight of the neighbours I bring my hands to her jaw, cutting off the start of a question with a kiss as I push her back against the door.

I pull back and start undoing the buttons of her top. She must see something in my expression because she asks if I'm OK. "Bad day," I tell her and I cut off her next question before she can ask it, "Didn't come here to talk," I say, intent still on undoing dainty-looking buttons which are taking far longer to undo with numb hands than I'd like.

She starts peeling off a black leather glove. "You want to go upstairs?" she asks.

It's appealing in a way but I come to a sudden realisation. "No," I tell her firmly and reach around her to bolt the door closed. There are windows either side of us but if we stay where we are, her back pressed against the wood of her front door, we won't be visible from the street. I want to strip her naked right here I realise, I want to hear her pant and moan in the same space she leaves for work every morning, the same place she faces the world every day. I want to make her eyes flutter closed where she stands, watch her legs buckle as she comes, right here on the edge of acceptable and I want to do it now, without even the moment's delay that going upstairs would represent.

A question forms on her face, "Wh…?" I cut it off with nothing more than my thumb brushed slowly across her lips. I press my palm to her jaw and run my hand around her head, my fingers pushing into her hair. She likes that, my hands in her hair. She tilts her head into my touch, but she starts another question too, "You …?"

I put my hand to her breast, squeeze and step closer and her sentence fades away. I know she can feel not just my skin against hers but my body through her clothes, my breath on her skin, the heat of the air between us. "No more questions," I tell her and I push my hips tight to hers and I go back to work on those buttons. The most disconcerting thing about my Trouble in this context is I can't tell when I get hard. I can judge well enough (I think) how hard I press against her because I can see my hips move; I can move forward and see when they stop. But I don't know at this moment what my body is doing; if she can feel an erection against her hip or just the general heat of what I want from her.

It doesn't matter in any case, not really; not today. What I want from her is to see her skin shiver, hear her breaths and moans, watch her throat catch and her eyes press closed all because of what I am doing to her; what  _ only I can  _ do to her. I get the buttons undone at last and slide the top over her shoulders, my palms against her clear white skin as I do. I catch the straps of her bra and pull them down her arms too and then slide my hands around to undo the catch at the back, watching what I’m doing over her shoulder. I kiss her then, hands on her jaw again and I can tell only from the way my view shifts slightly that she is pushing against me, a hint I think that more clothes should be hitting the floor.

I pull back and push my hands up into her bra, squeezing and flexing my fingers, watching her pleasure at the simple touch of skin. Her eyes are fluttered closed already but she reaches for the hem of my t-shirt to pull it up and as I pull it over my head she pulls the bra away from her skin too. I push my chest to hers, kiss her again and I know from the way I see her shoulders move that her hands are travelling up and down my back. And then there is movement again as she pushes me back to get at my belt. I don't exactly mind the sentiment but I was not done being in control yet. I let her push my clothing down my legs though, looking down to step out of my pants and to find that yes I am hard.

I reach down to her skirt to undo the zipper and then push her clothes down her hips too. She kicks them away and I step close, my cock pushing against her. I reach my hand down between her legs; I want to push my fingers inside her but I can't; can't tell where 'inside' is. I do what I can though, looking down to guide my hand down through her patch of hair, curling my fingers just a little, moving slowly, softly. I realise too late that I'm teasing her by mistake and she pushes me back. "Upstairs," she says again. She wants me somewhere on my back, I know, but I don't want to move.

"No," I tell her again and step forward to grab her hips and lift her up off the floor and against the door. Her face shows surprise for just a moment and then it's replaced by hunger as her legs wrap around my hips. I look down, trying to judge where I need to hold her, and she reaches down, guiding us together with her hand and with instructions to me. I know when I'm inside her only from the expression on her face; when the hunger turns to bliss. I hold her there still for a moment, until bliss turns to frustration and then I thrust against her, hoping the muscle memory is enough to get the movement right, though it's not like this is a familiar position.

Her thighs grip my hips and her hands are on my shoulders with her back against the wall. She tells me to wait, to stop moving, to step forward just a little. I follow her instructions now, holding her tight and watching how she braces herself between me and the door. And when she has me where she wants me she tells me to stay still as she moves instead; strong legs clenching around my hips and pushing back against the wall with the help of her arms, I can see her move against me as I hold her up.

It might not be quite what I'd like. I'd like to be knelt at her feet, my tongue inside her. Or my fingers brushing her clit so softly that she whines as my tongue finds her nipple. I can't do those things, but still I make her gasp, make her moan and that is more than anyone else alive can do. I watch how she moves and realise my cock is only part of it; this position means her clit is hitting against me every time she moves down against me. I can see it in her expression, the way she holds there for just a moment before moving again. I can tell it in the pitch of her moans; she has a different sound for each different way that I touch her, each different kind of pleasure I can give her and that moan - that moan right there - is her clit, I know it without even having to feel it. And as her face finally screws tight in the throws of orgasm and I hear the best sounds of all, I feel what only she can give me; powerful, wanted, in control, needed. I know it's only a fleeting impression; nothing real at all, but in that moment I feel special, like my Trouble exists for a reason, I feel like I am exactly where I'm supposed to be, like everything is going to work out. That feeling of powerlessness; just for a moment it is banished completely.

Her moans start to fade and then I notice my hips stuttering, thrusting into her of their own accord and I hope I don't hurt her but it's only for a moment - the moment of orgasm I realise - and then I find my legs are having problems holding me. I concentrate on setting Jordan carefully down on the floor and then steady myself by leaning against the door.

She reaches across to close the blinds on the window so that we can go upstairs without flashing the neighbours. "Come and lie down with me," she says, a suggestion that she has every expectation I'll follow. She's right too. I summon my legs to walk up the stairs after her, enjoying the view as we go and looking forward to the possibility of running my hands over that beautiful body of hers, making her purr with contentment; another sound to complement the rest and to remind me that while my Trouble has many downsides there is at least, someone in Haven who finds it truly magical.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're glad you did then any kind of positive comment is always very welcome.


End file.
